


it's a shame (bad habits are the hardest ones to break)

by tsuritsu



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Mentions of drugs and alcohol, Suicide, self harm implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 01:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11243184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuritsu/pseuds/tsuritsu
Summary: It wasn't that Connor had made a conscious decision to kill himself.





	it's a shame (bad habits are the hardest ones to break)

**Author's Note:**

> i love him and thus he must suffer
> 
> please read all tags! this is literally entirely about connor's suicide like that's it ... if this is a trigger for you, please avoid.
> 
> title is from 'swear to god the devil made me do it' by the front bottoms

It wasn't that Connor had made a conscious decision to kill himself. There was no prior planning that went into it, no real effort expended. It just sort of ... happened. Somewhere between the weed and the alcohol and the red lines he drew carefully across his skin, he realised that death didn't scare him like it probably should. In all honesty, he couldn't care less whether he lived or died.

He supposed it wasn't like the sentiment was uncommon; it was nigh impossible to come up with a single person whose life would not be better for his absence. Even Zoe - if he were an optimist, he would think she might cry for him, her dear dead brother, so sad he couldn't bring himself to face another day. But Connor had always considered himself a realist, and he had given her no reason to care for him. It wasn't that he didn't love her - he did, honestly, as much as he could love anyone. But his affection showed itself in ways that only seemed to harm others, and she would likely do better without it.

So he let himself fall into ruin, let the numbness of the high take over, let another day, another fight, another reminder that he wasn't the child his parents wanted him to be, pass him by.  
Rinse and repeat.

It wasn't that Connor chose a certain time and place to kill himself. There was no premeditated date, no forlorn goodbyes, no final words. He just took a little too much, drank a little too much, bled a little too much.

He spared no thought to the letter in his pocket, already half forgotten after the haze of rage had cleared. If he had thought of it, likely it would have been only to pull it out and feed it to the fire, let the flames from his lighter lick high enough to bite at his fingertips. He couldn't have known what his fugue would escalate to, the chain of events it would inevitably trigger. There was no bigger plan, no last ditch redemption attempt. This was Connor's reality - a shattered mess of childhood tears and learnt solitude, of numbness and mania. It was how he lived, and it would be how he died.

It wasn't that Connor had made a conscious decision to kill himself. But in hindsight, it seemed so obvious. The signs had all been there - he had made no effort to hide them. The thing was, that nobody cared.

It wasn't that Connor had made a conscious decision to kill himself. But he'd be damned if it wasn't the best thing he'd ever done.

 


End file.
